As the queen of the night,
the lamp blooms
on my study table,
illuminating my thoughts.
In the darkness,
the torch whittles
a way for my vision.
The timepiece teaches me
time can be musical.
Each ticking has a meaning.
My radio catches
a flying voice.
I ruminate nonchalantly
under the eaves of the song.
Everything is enticing,
energized by the battery
that remains inside
like my father.
First published in The Literary Hatchet (issue#28) .
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem